Sweet Catastrophe
by lullabyeyes
Summary: It's the little things that counts, he remembers hearing. He just never understood the gravity of the statement until now. [RoryLogan. One-shot. Complete.]


Notes: A collaboration between Arianna and lullabyeyes. Enjoy.

Spoilers: Everything up to "Pulp Friction" is fair game.

Disclaimer: We don't own, you don't sue. GG not ours. No copyright infringement intended. Song by Something Corporate – once again, not ours.

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**Sweet Catastrophe**

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**_with your babies breath_

_breathe symphonies_

_come on sweet catastrophe_

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_So this is what loss feels like. _

His eyes find her in the hallways sometimes, clutching her coffee, eyes alert and glassy.

Sometimes he sees her with someone new—sweater vest and all—and he feels his hands clenching into knuckles unconsciously. Sometimes he sees her out in the courtyard; book in hand, sitting under her tree, engrossed in the words of someone long gone.

Sometimes he sees her late in the night, ethereal and glowing like a ghost, and he has to remind himself that she's not really there.

That there is someone next to him who's not her.

The feeling widens, and he can't seem to find anything to close up the wound; so it sits, stinging, as he tries to alleviate it by touching the mouth of another.

( o )

She has never particularly wanted to understand the concept of loss.

She isn't sure how to define it, and in her world, no definition of a thing means the same for its existence. Is it no longer seeing someone, wishing he were there? Could it be that aching feeling when she sees him, when she sees him far away and she knows he can't see her? That nervousness that softly rings of 'over', that she's feeling?

This is it.

It's called the e n d.

It's not that she doesn't know it. But she doesn't know what's true, either. She doesn't know what will happen in the future; is afraid that everything will get the better of her. It almost doesn't feel like a forever thing, but sometimes she thinks that it has to be.

_Over._

She wonders about it absently, listlessly, before sleep. But she reluctantly hopes: maybe, if she denies it, all the worry-and what she doesn't want to christen 'pain'-will disappear.

_Loss. _

It's always involved with maybes.

- 0 0 0 -

_She wonders about the definition of uncertainty._

_She reaches for stability, holding it, grasping and releasing it like burning, scalding, icy metal. She grips it tightly and takes one look at him and then she lets go._

_She runs into him in the worst places. (The worst, the worst.)_

_Runs into him, and into her. 'Her' is whoever it may be that night (or evening, or afternoon, or day), but 'him' is always the same person. And when she looks into those eyes that belong to him, she sees spoken sentences; she sees promises. _

_She watches them dangle in her vision on the unattached strings she swore she'd keep. _

_No. Strings. Attached._

_It doesn't matter, she'd said again that first time, lying beside him, her skin warm and tingling. _

_He'd wanted to know if she was sure. She'd been floating, lying there, deathly afraid that this could break and she could fall. What y-we said stands, she'd told him. She'd smiled, had been happy, felt fulfilled. _

_(It's okay.)_

_But it's not. _

_He sees through her because she's just so fucking transparent. _

_This is why he asks her, every time, if it's all right. _

_Silence follows, coinciding with her heartbeat, and she knows he's waiting for her lie. _

_Then everything disappears, blending in with the night, because he's kissing her, lips burning like fire, and she doesn't want to let go. Morning comes, harsh and glaring, and he's always gone. _

_She fills her days like she did before himcoffee in the morning, classes, lunch with Paris, and on occasion, Marty. The newspaper consumes her more than ever now, and sometimes she finds herself getting lost within her own words. She's as focused as ever, more so than when she first started out, because she can't risk looking up and seeing him. _

_Can't risk looking up and seeing him in a lip-lock with the flavor of the week._

_Can't risk seeing him look at someone else the way he always looks at her. _

_She's afraid that she'll relapse if she doesn't keep working, keep her goals intact. She's afraid that one of these days, she'll end up at his doorstep—pathetic and naïve—asking him for something he can't give. _

_She thinks of nothing now, when she watches movies and their delightful happy endings. It's not always supposed to be that good, but she'd like a balance, she wants a compromise. _

_Promises are absolutely overrated, she begins to think. It's awfully ironic, to try and go back on a promise (though only in her own mind) not to make something exclusive. It's awfully strange, doing this, but she badly needs an excuse to feel bitter._

_Horseradish snapping at her throat, and her mouth, white flakes that melt away when his tongue touches hers; she desperately tries to hold them there, keep them biting and burning at her lips. _

_(She wants him to taste them too, but he doesn't notice a thing.)_

_It's alright, it makes sense, I am like this all the time._

_She has become proficient at this: not at lying, but at stretching the truth. Someday she'll pull it halfway 'round the world._

( o )

_He's never been more uncertain of anything in his entire life. _

_He's becoming more and more aware of the comfort that maps, how-to books, and instruction manuals bring. He never thought that he'd acknowledge the safety net that predictability brings, but sometimes he finds himself thankful for the protection that it comes with it. _

_This is why he didn't want to get involved in the first place. _

_He knew that he'd be tangled the moment that he agreed to her "no strings" idea. _

_Of course it wouldn't work. Who was he trying to kid anyway? _

_She of planners, of color-coded notebooks, of outlines and rough drafts. _

_He'd hoped that she'd abandon those when she became involved with him, but even that is a foolish thought. She clutches her palm-pilot like a vice. She likes schedules, set-dates, and tangible things that he can't offer. _

_Sometimes she reaches for him, late in the night, as if afraid that he's going to leave her. But the grip of her hand on his is futile because she knows full well that he's going to leave by the time that morning comes. _

_And he does. _

_He leaves. _

_But something always burns inside of him when he closes her window. _

_He doesn't want to stay and allow her to figure out that she's made the biggest mistake in taking a chance with him. He doesn't want to see the bright light dawn on her when she comes to her senses, because maybe then, he won't be the one who's leaving. _

_This is why he asks her, every time, if it's all right. _

_He wants to hear it on her lips, wants to hear that she's still under his spell. _

_He wants to know that she's still lying to herself. _

_He wants to know because he's doing the same._

( o ) _  
_

_One day, she figures it out. _

_She arrives at his doorstep, heart in hand, and when she knocks the door, she's thankful for the time that it takes for him to answer. She knows that won't be leaving his dorm in one piece. _

_His hand brushes the doorknob, twists it and yanks it slowly open. She's standing there, about a head shorter than he; her face slightly paler than usual. She looks unbelievably uncomfortable, but he thinks he understands. _

"_Hey," he says to her. For a moment she's surprised that his voice sounds the same._

"_We have to talk," she says, stepping into his dorm. Her hand fidgets, wringing itself on her shirt, and he notices that she's trembling. _

_He raises an eyebrow, heart sinking, and asks the question they both know the answer to. "What's going on, Rory?" He uses her name, plain and simple, and they both know that there's no going back now. _

_"I…" She should be accustomed to this but she's not. She should have gotten used to it, replaying the idea in her head, pressing pause and rewind over and over. "Logan, I just…something is…"_

_He looks at her and knows exactly what she means. "Yeah." Yeah. Shit._

"_I can't do this anymore," she hears herself saying, soft and slow so that he can't miss it. She watches for his reaction, for a rebuttal, but something in her knows that it's not coming. _

"_Oh, all right," he says, damning himself in the process. Say something else, you idiot! _No, Rory. I don't want to break this off. Don't go. Please_. He waits, waits, and then waits some more for a better string of words. _

_It doesn't come. _

"_Yeah," Rory says back, softly. The sudden temptation to flee overcomes her, and she feels a need to run to Stars Hollow, crawl underneath her bed, and never come out. But it's different now; she is not a little girl anymore. _

"_Rory…" Logan starts to say, but the words won't come until much later, when she's gone. _

"_Umm. I guess I'll be seeing you around then…"_

"_Ror…" he begins to say. _

"_Bye, Logan." _

- 0 0 0 -

She doesn't come by anymore.

And it's not the same with other people, he's noticed. Not all of them like to tuck their head under the crook of his neck and whisper absurdities into his ear; nor do they like to trace the lines on his hand, speaking in a hushed whisper about his upcoming good fortune, according to the lines engraved in his palm.

He's finding out that he can't seem to find someone with the same shade of brown hair, the same lavender scented skin, or the same bright sky eyes. He's looked, but he keeps finding browns that are either too dark or too light, the scent doesn't smell right on them, and the blue-ness of their eyes are dull and pale when compared to her bright ones.

He's finding out that second best isn't going to cut it anymore.

He's finding out how much he misses these absurd qualities about her.

Mostly, he just misses her.

He misses her attempts to steal the papers that he works on for class, hoping to get a peak into his hidden studious side. He misses the banter ensued by the fact that she doesn't want him to spend so much money on her. He misses telling her that buying her cup after cup of coffee isn't going to send him to the poor house. He misses the small smile that come to her lips when she thinks that he's not looking.

_It's the little things that count_, he's heard a million times over, but he's never understood the gravity of those simple words until now.

( o )

And it's the big things that don't matter to her any longer.

The super colossal things, the things she once viewed as the by-all-end-all. Sleeping together. (Making love?) Waking up and seeing him, him disappearing out her window. The fact that she knows the fabric of his couch because she's slept there; she knows the slight difference between the air in his room, air in the hallway, and the air in her own.

(It's something only noticeable at college.)

It hurts her. She didn't expect there to be literal pain, but there is.

It frightens her. She thought that was what this was all about, learning not to be afraid.

She started this. Would it never have happened if it weren't for that evening, or is it just that she began this thing too early?

She decides to try not to look at him anymore, but she's never lost a battle with herself more quickly.

( o )

He comes to her this time, and she is caught completely off guard by the spontaneity.

His lips find hers, hungry for the sweetness that only she possesses, and he pours himself inside of her. She opens her mouth a little bit further, giving him access, and he tastes the emotions inside of him exploding. Breaking. Shattering.

And then he's lost.

He feels her trembling in his touch, and goes to push her against the wall, granting stability. He finds that it was a good decision on his part, because he feels as though he's about to collapse himself.

When he breaks away from her lips, he opens his eyes to find hers pooled with tears. He reaches over to wipe away the stray tear that escaped from her wide ocean eyes. Leaning forward, he touches their foreheads, and whispers, "I should have asked you to stay."

She decides she likes to lose herself, but she likes to lose herself in something she knows.

In _someone_ she knows.

The knowledge that he is willing to toss his (lack of) values to the side is enough.

The taste of his mouth, his touch on her body. It's alright, that they do this; she dares to think it exactly right. They speak when they mean 'stay', nowthey say it out loudinstead of brushing hands and letting go and crashing down. They smile, mostly her, but when he does she is reassured that she is right, yet again, she is right.

"Rory," he says. She likes the way he says her name.

"Huntzberger," she says, jokingly, as he steps the rest of the way into her room.

"Glad you came," she tells him, awkwardly. She likes this idea, of their honest exclusive promises; she wants to keep it up. He knows this. Again, he sees straight through her.

He only needs her to be herself.

"Give it up, Ace." He slips his arms around her; she returns his kiss. He presses against her, she tries to restrain herself from shivering. Him her hot sweet happy breathless yes finally.

_Finally._

**End. **


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